counting your face (among the living)
by Screaming Faeries
Summary: There are just a few things Regulus needs to do before he can go.


**Written For:**

QLFC Round 8: K-drama Special - For the Love of a Buzzcut. Theme - someone making preparations for their death (natural or otherwise).

Hogwarts Assignment #3/Lineage Studies Task #4: Write about the end of a family line. (The name dying out).

 **Word Count:** 1,021

* * *

oOo

Regulus was glad when Kreacher appeared in the cave with the promise of taking him back home. It was all well and good to prepare for a noble sacrifice, but carrying it out in practice turned out to be much harder.

After passing out from drinking the contents of the Dark Lord's mysterious potion, he had woken up in the depths of the murky waters, wand in hand, with with Inferi grasping at his ankles and knees, dragging him deeper below. He had choked on a mouthful of lakewater, and used every last ounce of his strength to send a whip of flame at the Inferi that clutched his limbs and escape to the surface.

He was exhausted—but not just the usual kind of exhaustion. The fatigue went deeper, past his bones, to his very core. This was a kind of tiredness that came with only one sure end. In that moment, Regulus could only think about how devastated Kreacher would be.

Kreacher's magic allowed him to apparate inside the cave without spilling blood. "Master Regulus is injured," he said gravely, clutching at Regulus's arm. "Master Regulus must return home at once."

oOo

Regulus was able to stand when Kreacher brought him back to his bedroom at Grimmauld Place, but his legs were weak and numb. He leaned heavily on his dresser, staring into his reflection in the mirror. He almost didn't recognise himself.

His face was gaunt and milk-white, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He gazed into his eyes for a moment, trying to look past the glassy sheen of his irises at the person he knew should lurk beneath.

Kreacher made him flinch as he stepped on a loose, creaky floorboard in the the bedroom. "Master Regulus should get into bed," Kreacher insisted. Regulus thought the House-Elf would drag him into bed if he could get away with it. "Kreacher will make soup, and Master Regulus will feel better in the morning."

Regulus looked at Kreacher through the mirror. "You know that isn't true, Kreacher," he said softly, before turning around to face the House-Elf. He didn't believe in mincing his words. "The Inferi marked me; I was under the water with them for too long. Soon, my body will deteriorate and decay, and I'll become one of them."

"Master Regulus can't have been under more than minutes," Kreacher replied, shaking his head firmly, his ears flapping. "Not long enough for the Inferi to take him."

"The process has already started," Regulus answered. He pulled up his sleeves and exposed his wrists and forearms. Patches of skin, where the Inferi had grabbed at him, were already blackened and withered.

"Kreacher will find a way to reverse the process," Kreacher said desperately, his huge eyes filling up with unshed tears. "Kreacher will look through _all_ of the Mistress Walburga's books until Kreacher finds something."

Regulus dropped to his knees, suddenly weaker than ever, and realised he was on eye level with Kreacher. "There isn't time," he whispered, gazing desperately at the elf. He gulped, trying to keep his calm. "I won't succumb to the life of one of those creatures," he spat out the last word. "You need to help me. You need to help me do what I need to do...and then die."

Kreacher's eyes widened momentarily, but he bowed his head, his nose drooping. "Of course, Master Regulus," he murmured sadly.

Regulus had just managed to crawl to his bed where he realised that his ankles and shins were as dead as his arms. He couldn't feel them at all. Taking a shuddering breath, he ordered Kreacher to bring him parchment and ink, but by the time Kreacher had helped him to steady his hand to write, his fingers no longer worked.

"In my robes," he whispered. "Reach into my robes."

Kreacher obeyed and reached into the pocket inside his robes, withdrawing the heavy locket that Regulus had recovered from the cave. The hatred in Kreacher's eyes rivalled the looks he gave Sirius when he still lived under the Black roof.

"This is very important, Kreacher," Regulus said, as the elf grasped the locket with both of his gnarled hands. "You have to keep that locket safe, and you can never, ever tell anyone that you have it—not even my mother."

Kreacher nodded slowly.

"Do you understand?"

"Kreacher understands, Master," Kreacher replied gravely, almost comically serious. "Kreacher will not tell anyone about the locket."

"I can't write anything with these hands," Regulus continued, looking down at his charcoal fingers. "So you will have to tell mother...tell mother that I love her and father. But you mustn't tell them what I'm about to ask you to do. Tell them it was a natural death."

Kreacher looked at him expectantly, but he already knew what his orders were.

"Try to make it painless," Regulus murmured as he leaned back on his pillows. Maybe for once in his life, he would feel at peace. Too bad it was in death. "I'm not ashamed to say I'm afraid of dying."

"Kreacher understands, Master," Kreacher repeated, before raising his hand, preparing to cast the final spell.

oOo

Walburga's screams rang through Grimmauld Place, piercing the air. She had discovered Regulus in the early hours of the following morning, and refused to leave his sullen corpse for hours. It was noon before Healers from St. Mungo's arrived to confirm that he was dead, and tell Walburga and Orion that they couldn't establish a cause of death.

"But what of the marks on his arms and legs?" Walburga had shrieked, gesturing to the withered handprints on his limbs. "What kind of magic is this?"

"Dark magic," the Healer told her sadly. "Magic that we cannot even begin to comprehend."

While Walburga argued and cried and howled and screamed, Kreacher huddled in his kitchen cupboard, out of the way of her wrath. He had the locket hidden beneath the dirty rag that he wore, but he would need to find a new hiding place soon.

For now though, the cool metal would remain against his skin, where he knew it would be safe.


End file.
